


Epsilon Parable

by allollipoppins



Series: Keeping up with the Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Family Bonding, Holmes Family, John officially and properly meets his (future) brother-in-law, M/M, Yuuri and John get on like a house on fire, mentions of French literature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 19:27:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13554006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allollipoppins/pseuds/allollipoppins
Summary: “So,” John started, leaning forward as if to tell him a secret. Yuuri mirrored him, head tilted to the side and elbows propped on the table just so.“You’re not twins.”[...]Yuuri coughed in his fist, voice roughened by laughter and cheeks red. Traces of it still lingered on his lips. “No, we’re definitely not twins, Doctor Watson, though we can be similar when we want to be.”***John Watson finally has a proper, official meeting with the other Holmes sibling. Set between s1 & s2.





	Epsilon Parable

**Author's Note:**

> Woo! First proper fic in ages folks. I meant to update my Gone Girl AU along with The Erlking (both of which I am currently working on, promise), but as it is I haven't had much time to focus on writing :( I just came back to France for my 2nd semester and we have 8 translations to do per week. I shit you not, 8, plus all the other classes we have. Somebody kill me.
> 
> I thankfully had a draft saved for some time now for another Holmes family crossover, this times centered on two of my favourite characters having a chat.  
> In the works are also my "5 + 1 things that make Yuuri a Holmes" fic, which will be called Cyclogenesis; a post-Reichenbach, angsty fic which should be named "The cross we bear"; and a Yuuri-Irene fic that should portray Yuuri as genderfluid. I'd also really like to write a fic for Valentine's day, though not a crossover or a themed fic. Maybe a darkish Victuuri that I've had planned for some time, who knows...  
> In the meantime, have fun reading this one!

In all fairness, John had had it coming for some time now. It was, after all, only a matter of time before he should find himself reacquainted with Sherlock’s very much existent, and very queer family.

 

However, he couldn’t help but be surprised when he hopped off the bus to Baker Street and found Yuuri sitting on the bench, idly twirling a felt daisy between his fingers.

 

The younger man had obviously been waiting for him for some time now, and made no effort to hide it. His foot jumped slightly from where it hovered in the air, one leg elegantly crossed on the other in a way that didn’t belong, on a street corner as drab as this. Even the clothes, while well ironed without a crease in sight and obviously of great quality, held a simplicity that might have made him fade amid the London crowd.

 

John Watson would have been lying if he said he wasn’t momentarily startled by the way Yuuri lifted his head to gaze up at him. From their first meeting he had found him to be very endearing, a shy little puppy-like creature that made people around him want to wrap him up in a blanket and cuddle him. It had to be his round cheeks, so soft compared to Sherlock’s sharp cheekbones and Mycroft’s own angular features. Or maybe it was the eyes, wide open and gazing about with curiosity from behind large frames, or his naturally youthful looks so unlike his own.

 

And that was when Yuuri’s lips parted, revealing two rows of pearly white teeth and creating dimples in his cheeks. The corners of his eyes, too, crinkled a bit, and his cheeks were a healthy pink. John couldn’t be certain of their relationship, but for a split second he could have sworn the smile was a mirror image of Sherlock’s own open grin, the one he always greeted him with when he came back to Baker Street after a long day at work. It reminded him of home, of sweet tea and cosy jumpers and violin serenades and a warm, well stoked fireplace.

 

A familiar sentiment. Almost as common as being cornered.

 

“Doctor Watson,” he greeted him. “It’s good to see you again.” Yuuri stood up and held up his right hand, the other placing the flower inside his pocket. John responded in kind, taking his hand in his own. To his amazement, Yuuri had a rather strong, firm grip. Both his hand and then golden ring on his finger felt oddly warm against his palm, but not uncomfortably so. It was quite appreciated in this weather.

 

“Likewise,” John said, a tentative smile of his own stretching on his lips. His hand fell back by his side as he spoke, a short pause at the end extending in a silent question. Yuuri thankfully seemed to note it, as he nodded to him.

 

“Yuuri, please. I think I owe you some answers, Doctor Watson. May I offer you some coffee? It’s on me.”

 

“I don’t drink coffee,” was the answer that escaped him before John could stop himself. Surprised at how dry it was, he shuffled and was about to apologize when Yuuri stopped him with a small laugh.

 

“Tea then, if that’s alright. I’m not too big caffeine either, usually. Speedy’s?”

 

They walked side by side to the Speedy’s, only a couple of minutes away. John didn’t even look surprised when Yuuri directed them to his and Sherlock’s usual spot, settling in the seat the latter usually chose for himself.

 

“I’ll have a Mint Green Tea, and Doctor Watson will have his usual, please.” Yuuri told their waiter, who had come as soon as he had seen John Watson step inside the small café. He nodded at them and walked back to the kitchen to prepare their teas as they sat down.

 

“You already knew what I was going to order,” John said. Neither a question nor an accusation, merely stating.

 

“Of course I did,” Yuuri said, not insisting on the “obvious” part of the sentence as Sherlock tended to do. It was simply polite. “Sherlock told me; or rather, he told our parents.”

 

John frowned. “Wait, why would he do that?”

 

Now though, Yuuri did look at him as if it should have been apparent. “Family tends to know this kind of details about each other.”

 

The implication, along with the earnest way Yuuri looked at him from under his lashes didn’t go amiss. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed.

 

“So,” John started, leaning forward as if to tell him a secret. Yuuri mirrored him, head tilted to the side and elbows propped on the table just so.

 

“You’re not twins.”

 

Yuuri frowned, until his face visibly relaxed but his mouth remained closed in a thin line. From the way his elbows trembled on the tabletop and his entwined fingers twitched in their grip, John knew he was trying hard not to laugh. And he may or may not have been suppressing a laugh of his own.

 

Neither of them lasted long. Before he knew it, Yuuri was openly laughing, clutching his stomach through the pain but unable to contain himself, and John was joining him in as he thought of how ridiculous but well-received his silly question had been.

 

Yuuri coughed in his fist, voice roughened by laughter and cheeks red. Traces of it still lingered on his lips. “No, we’re definitely not twins, Doctor Watson, though we can be similar when we want to be.”

 

John waved him off good-naturedly. “John, please, call me John. Doctor Watson is for my patients.”

 

Yuuri quirked an eyebrow, full of what John identified all too late as mischief. “Only your patients?”

 

John’s lips parted in a “o”, and from the way Yuuri hid his smirk with a hand, he could tell his cheeks were flushed a nice red colour.

 

Yuuri guffawed behind his palm. “Oh, this is rich. Now I have something to blackmail Sherlock with.”

 

John was about to ask him why exactly he would need this kind of information to blackmail his very brother, of all people, when their drinks came. Yuuri thanked their waiter as he grasped his own mug. It burned pleasantly between his palms, the scent of Earl Grey and milk wafting deliciously in the air.

 

“But to answer your question, no, we’re not directly related. I’m adopted, but I guess you could tell that already.” Yuuri commented absent-mindedly, as casually as one could talk about the weather. Fog obscured his frames as he peered down at his mug, stirring some saccharine in it, but in spite of the cloud hiding his eyes John was positive his expression was distant. Somewhere far, far away from the London café.

 

John dared not add anything to that. To be honest he hadn’t entertained the idea that Yuuri should have been adopted by the Holmes family, not willing to make assumptions simply based on their discrepancy in physical appearance and general attitude. Even more, he had spent many hours after Yuuri’s visit thinking about Sherlock and Mycroft’s younger sibling, mentally criss-crossing their faces to find similarities. Considered the pale skin grazed by a soft tan, and the messy, albeit smooth-looking crown of black hair that made him want to run his hands through it and tame it. Bar the shyness, poor eyesight, eye colour and general foreign appearance Yuuri could have easily passed for a Holmes. He could even have, Lord above, looked like their child given some circumstances.

 

“I’m a Holmes in all but name.” He held a palm up, raised and turned in mock salute.

 

“Eurus Jeremiah Holmes, at your service. Though I prefer to go by Yuuri Katsuki on stage.”

 

It perked John’s curiosity, recalling something Sherlock had said along the lines of “lies and deceit” on their first meeting. “On stage? So you’re an actor then?”

 

Yuuri nodded. “Ballet dancer to be more precise, though I sometimes multi-task as a Thespian. That, and I double-majored in sports medicine and dancing.”

 

“Oh, but then I should be calling you “Doctor” too.”

 

Yuuri waved a hand dismissively. “I assure you, there is no need for that. I didn’t even complete my first degree anyway, so there’s no point in giving me that moniker. But I do know of at least 22 different ways to kill you and make it look like an accident, 10 of which only require my bare hands.”

 

John laughed. “Would it be okay to ask why you didn’t finish it, or it is classified?”

 

“No, don’t worry about that. Besides I’ve come to understand “classified information” pretty loosely. It can range from government secrets to Sherlock’s full name.”

 

“Then why did you give me yours?”

 

“Because if Sherlock trusts you then I trust you, no matter how reckless it will sound to put myself out there.” He took a sip of his tea before following. “And also in case you want to spare your future child the mortification of a name like Mycroft or Sherlock Jr.”

 

“I was thinking Hamish, actually, or Catherine.”

 

Yuuri smiled. “Your middle name and your mother’s name?” John nodded, a little taken aback that he should know these details. “Good choices too.”

 

“How much do you know about me?”

 

“Honestly, the bare minimum. “As you are aware, I read your blog. You have a way with words, John.” John bowed his head, silently thanking him as his smile grew wider.

 

“Besides Sherlock isn’t much of a talker, as you already know, but even he takes to… babble, when given the opportunity. There’s a reason why he never drinks.” Yuuri winked at him conspirationally.

 

John chuckled. “Which is still more than I know about you. How come I’ve never heard of you up to now?”

 

“To answer your previous question, it’s partly because I was hardly there after high school. I just packed my bags one day and decided that I wanted out, but I never strayed too far away from home. And I hardly ever call or text Sherlock, per his wishes and force of habit. Only for his birthday and Christmas, and even then it’s usually just two words: “Have fun.” Or I send a puzzle or a partition.” Yuuri shrugged. “That’s the most either of us needs, really. We both mind our own businesses and in return we promise not to annoy each other.”

 

A moment passed as they both turned to their respective mugs, taking small sips and relishing the warmth of the tea seeping through their body. Yuuri waited for John to wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve before breaking the silence. “I’m reminding you of him, aren’t I? I did think it would make you uncomfortable, having me sit in front of you. I know it makes me uneasy.”

 

John frowned. “Why?”

 

“That’s his seat. Neither of us needs to see a name on it to know it’s his spot.”

 

“You’re not like him.”

 

Yuuri playfully smiled at him again. “Too normal?”

 

John chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that.”

 

Yuuri sighed. “Runt of the litter. I know. People don’t say it but they think it. It’s at once as good an insult as it is a compliment in our family.” He stated, matter-of-factly. It pained him to hear him say those words with such nonchalance.

 

“But you’re still clever,” John protested.

 

Yuuri snorted, though not sarcastically. “Clever? Oh no, not at all. Maybe too clever for my own good. The closest thing we have in common, the lot of us, is probably our taste in men.” At John’s quizzical stare, he added, “Come home next Christmas. Then I’ll present you my Victor and you’ll see exactly what I mean.”

 

“Everything I’ve learned on deduction, I learned from Mycroft and Sherlock. But the main difference between them and me was that they were born with it. I had to be shown the ropes. Now of course I’m capable of doing what they do, but it’s not nearly as advanced. And most of the time my deductions are strictly based on the physical. Meaning I would have been able to tell about your gunshot wound when we first met, if it hadn’t been for Sherlock mentioning it, just as well as I can tell now that you recently had sex. Don’t think I don’t know why your mates call you Three Continents.”

 

It brought another blush to John’s cheeks. He pushed it back with another sip.

 

“Must have been hard,” he continued, “growing up in a family full of geniuses.”

 

Yuuri hummed. “Essentially it was years of tacky #1 Dad and Best Mom Ever mugs, with a side of macaroni necklaces. I think they still have those stashed away inside a cardboard box in the attic. And the rumours, oh the rumours...”

 

That had picked John’s curiosity. “Rumours?”

 

“Oh, didn’t Sherlock tell you? Well, long story short, people at school used to spread a lot of stories when I started going, and everyone noticed I shared a last name with Sherlock and Mycroft, and that I sometimes hanged out with Sherlock even though he was much older than I was. Back in the day everyone, from teachers to parents to students would invent the craziest stories to explain that. It ranged from Mummy having an affair behind Daddy’s back to me having been dropped from the sky straight into their garden.”

 

The way he stated things, in a casual, almost detached manner, made John’s blood run cold. But it wasn’t so much the way Yuuri narrated things, but moreso what he was telling him. It made him irrationally angry on behalf of the family, and protective towards the poor boy. “How could you take this?”

 

“Me? I’ve stopped caring, to be honest. But you should have seen the family during that period, we were the worst! Mummy and Daddy used to make bets together. Who’d come up with the best story, who’d make the better job of convincing others that their story was believable. We ran a board with a tip jar. Most of the stories that were spread up to high school are ours. Used to drive Mycroft nuts, not that he’d ever admit to dropping his own story or story every now and then. I made my own up when I got old enough. As an adult? I’m the main contributor.”

 

John huffed, not sure whether to laugh or to slap himself. Of course he should have expected as much from a Holmes. “I take it you are all very close. Especially you and Sherlock.”

 

Yuuri nodded. “We used to play together quite a lot, in spite of the age difference. He’d had one friend growing up but they parted ways when they realized how different they were. Which is in part why Sherlock takes better to be called “freak” than I do at being called a cunt. Years and years of conditioning will do that to you.”

 

That feeling of protectiveness surged again in full force. “That doesn’t make it acceptable!”

 

“No, no it doesn’t.” Yuuri shook his head, looking down at his hands around the mug. “Sherlock doesn’t have friends, John, or so he tells himself. Contacts are easier to manage, collect and discard. You’re not his friend. Not just that, obviously.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“We drifted apart, for some time. Sherlock grew a little tired when he realized I preferred to be the siren rather than the pirate in his stories, and then he moved to London to study. A few years later I went to Japan, took a sabbatical to think about my future, rediscover myself.”

 

“And what did you find?”

 

Yuuri inhaled deeply. John thought he had struck a nerve, though nothing on Yuuri’s face gave him away. He was most probably thinking about what to say.

 

A beat passed between them before he decided to speak again. “Do you read much these days, John?”

 

“Not much, really. Apart from newspapers and lab reports and patient charts, I don’t have much time left for reading. I write more these days.”

 

“Of course. But out of curiosity do you know Georges Perec? French writer. He died a good decade after you were born but he wrote novels that have been elevated to classics in his home country.”

 

“Perec once had the idea of writing a novel using constrained writing techniques, in order to show how absurd it was to put literature in a cage. So he wrote “La Disparition” – “The Disappearance” in literal English, though the more correct translation was “A Void.” It’s a lipogrammatic novel. Meaning it doesn’t contain any “e”. Not a single one save for the four you can find in the author’s name. That gave his translators a field day. They didn’t have it translated in Japanese until recently.”

 

“When I was in Japan I spent my time between two things: searching for my biological parents, and working on a translation of that book. I can’t tell you which was more tedious to do. But a year later I had done it. I had it published a few years ago under the name “En-metsu”, before moving back to England. “Ashes to ashes”, if you’d like, and I omitted the letter “a” instead of the “e”. Sadly it went pretty unnoticed because the book isn’t that great in the first place, but it kept me entertained. It’s feasible, but it’s ridiculously unnerving. You can’t help but find yourself mentally correcting sentences. Just because omission is doable doesn’t mean that it’s the best alternative.”

 

“See where I’m going with that? That's family to you. Family doesn't ignore you nor does it leave you behind. Family's there for you when nightmares won't leave you alone. Family's here to kick your arse whenever you screw up. My parents taught me how to be independent. My brothers showed me how to be a survivor. And me, I learned how to use my body as a weapon. It’s as simple as that.”

 

Yuuri smiled at him over the rim of his cup. “Yuuri Katsuki is who I am, who I’ve always been; it’s my life insurance. But no matter what, I'm a Holmes to the bone. Just because I’m not one in blood doesn’t make me any less ambitious.”

**Author's Note:**

> * the book Yuuri mentions was actually translated into Japanese in 2010 by Shuichiro Shiotsuka.  
> Kudos, comments of any kind and bookmarks are always highly appreciated :)  
> I'm @allollipoppins on tumblr & @AriL10N355 on twitter. Hmu!


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